


I Need Somebody

by DemonDean10



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, BDSM, Ballet, CATS the musical, Dancing, Divorce, Dubious Consent, Emotional Abuse, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, M/M, Neglect, Not between mclennon, Not good Pete, Paris - Freeform, Physical Abuse, but - Freeform, no rape nooooo, not good Stu
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2020-09-30 19:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20452421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonDean10/pseuds/DemonDean10
Summary: Paul McCartney, a young ballet dancer stuck in an abusive relationship with a man he once thought his savior.John Sutcliffe, an acclaimed costume and fashion designer married to a neglectful husband who would rather be staring at a blank canvas than at him.When Paul is cast as Victoria in the musical Cats and John is called upon to design the costumes, these two will meet and hopefully help each other to value themselves again.





	1. Why

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so first:  
No rape scenes here but yes physical abuse so beware.   
Also I’m not intending to paint anyone as a weakling but they do put up fronts.
> 
> Just comment if u liked it.  
Alsooooo if u want to see what the dance scenes I struggled to describe actually look like you can just YouTube search for Victoria the white cats and it should be those two first C8888 (from the stage musical we don’t talk about the movie here cause ew)

Paul McCartney was looking at himself in the mirror as he gently applied his foundation. He didn’t wear it out of a love for makeup, simply a desire to cover the bruise that took up half his face. Pete has been drunk last evening, he was always drunk these days. He was currently passed out on the bed.

Paul had been dating Pete Best for five years, since he was eighteen. He’d just gotten out of school when he met Pete, a thirty year old with a wife and two kids. Paul was a barman as a dingy pub to help pay for his ballet classes (of the highest level available at his dance school) and Pete came in practically everyday. Paul didn’t remember exactly how it happened, but soon Paul was missing work to go out with Pete to much nicer places, and one night he went home with him. His wife had walked in and thrown them both out. Needless to say, Pete has gotten divorced, his wife kept the house, and so he moved in with Paul. It soon became evident that Pete didn’t have a steady job, but he occasionally did some work for friends or the like. 

Really, Paul was the main source of income. He’d finished dance school and now taught on the weekends for a good paycheck. But a couple of months ago a theater production had been announced, a production of Cats. Half the faculty had auditioned, but only Paul had gotten in. The roles available were limited, because half the London cast had come over to Liverpool. He’d auditioned for Mr. Mistoffeles but the producer, a George Martín decided that his voice wasn’t strong enough. Paul had wanted to argue that Misto barely even sang in the play, but apparently the character still needed a better voice and some other guy had gotten the role. 

And Paul? Paul played Victoria the White Cat. Given the fact that they were cats, he figured the gender wasn’t that important especially since Victoria didn’t sing. At all. His role was small but he did have his dance solo, and he was damn proud of that.

He finished dressing up and picked up his bag from the chair next to the bedroom chair. He looked back at the bed, seeing the man sprawled out and thinking of maybe leaving a kiss of his face. But no, Paul didn’t want to accidentally wake him up.

Paul went into the kitchen and quietly made some sandwiches for Pete, knowing he would wake up hungry. He ate some scraps of cheese, but didn’t actually eat a sandwich. He wasn’t hungry and it was best if Pete had them all, he had a big appetite. 

_ Gone to theater!! See you in a few hours, love you.  _ The note he left behind said. In truth, Paul would prefer it if Pete was gone when he came back and that way he could have some time to relax. He crossed his fingers as he left his flat and hoped.

* * *

John Sutcliffe hummed as he woke up in the spacious bed. He hugged one of the extra pillows close as he blinked his eyes open and looked around himself.

He was alone, but the blankets next to him were rumpled. He’d gone to bed alone too. Clearly, his husband had come to bed late and woke up early. As usual. John couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up with Stuart by his side. 

John and Stuart had been married for a long time, since John was sixteen and Stu seventeen. Stu’d parents had given their reluctant consent and the orphanage, happy to get rid of John, had signed off on it too. John had insisted on taking Stu’s last name since Lennon meant nothing but abandonment to him. They had married November third, almost immediately after John’s birthday. In fact, it was their anniversary tomorrow. But for now, John was alone.

Stuart had studied art while John had gone into design at the same university. They sure had gotten some looks at being married at their age, but it worked. They loved each other. But now Stu had his gallery and his time for John had pretty much...disappeared. He was always working these days.

John stood up and shrugged on his robe. It was long and flowing and absolutely over the top. He loved it. He left their bedroom and headed downstairs down the grand staircase. Stu had bought the house, the mansion, for him as a five year anniversary present. It was beautiful. The only thing the house was missing, in his opinion, was a cat or two. But Stuart didn’t like cats, so John was denied that. 

“Hey, Gretchen.” John smiled as he walked into the kitchen. Gretchen was their maid and their cook; a really kind woman. 

The woman smiled at him as she washed some pans, “Mr. Sutcliffe, good morning. Your husband is in his study.”

John saw that the food was ready and said, “I’ll take up his breakfast, thank you.”

She moved away from the sink. “Along with yours, sir?”

“Why not?” John shrugged. Maybe they could eat together and talk. John had very exciting news. 

Gretchen gave him the tray and John took it with a happy grin. He was careful as he went back up the stairs and into the direction of Stuart’s study, it was at the other end of the house from the bedroom. John had his own study, but that one was right next to the bedroom. 

He knocked on the wooden door, thinking about how while Stu always shut his, John always left his own study door open. In case his husband popped in for a visit. They had had this house for four years, and that had yet to happen. 

“Honey?” He called as he knoched. There was no answer. John knocked again, “Stu? I’ve your breakfast.” Figuring out that he wasn’t going to be answered, John opened the door and walked in with the tray. 

Stuart was on the phone when John entered, but he did offer a single distracted nod in the direction of his smiling husband. 

John set the tray down on the spacious desk, “Hi.” He whispered. 

But Stuart still hushed him with an annoyed glance. 

John bowed and set out to  _ quietly _ set his husband’s plate. In the way was an old coffee cup and as he moved it, John realized that it was resting on top of some of his designs which were now stained brown. He’d given those designs to Stuart a week ago and had been waiting for his opinion. Clearly, John had to do better. 

Stuart hung up with a sigh. 

John offered a weak smile, pushing the designs into the paper bin. “Who was that?” He asked. 

Stuart was typing intensely on his computer. “Artist manager.” He muttered. 

John rolled his eyes, “Are they giving you trouble?” He tried to get the conversation going. 

But Stuart only hummed in response. 

There was a silence. 

John decided now was the time to share the news. “I got an offer to design the costumes for the new production of Cats.” He said with a small but strong grin. 

There was no response. 

John rubbed his hands together, “In fact, I’m going down to see rehearsals today. Maybe we could-”

Stuart interrupted him, “That’s great, John. But do you mind? I’m working.” He didn’t look away from the screen once. 

John’s jaw clicked as he shut it. He swallowed. “Ok.” Was his meek answer. He picked up the tray containing his breakfast and left the room. 

Gretchen stared sadly at him as he put the still full tray down on the kitchen counter. “Are you sure you don’t want your breakfast, sir?”

He gave her a thin smile, “I’m sure, Gretchen.” And he left the room. 

John took no pleasure on his hot bath and he picked his outfit in automatic. Black skinny jeans, a black shirt covered in silver glitter, a black blazer with pointed shoulders, and heeled boots with the same glitter shade was the shirt. His friend Elton had designed those boots. John missed him, but he’d had a fall out with Stuart and so now he was out of the picture. 

The makeup had to be bold and dark and beautiful, hard to accomplish when your hands are shaking. John tried to pretend that the eyeliner didn’t look awful and he grabbed the mascara tube. 

His right eye was the first to drop a tear and the left soon followed. John let the tube drop into the table as he bowed his head and sobbed. His aunt had told him to never cry in front of a mirror, but at the moment he didn’t give a damn.

* * *

John’s makeup was was redone and perfect by the time he got off the car in front of the theater. He’d put on a gigantic pair of sunglasses with no visible pair in order to hide his red eyes from the driver, but knew they had to come off inside. 

A pair of a dark haired man and a light haired taller man greeted him at the entrance of the theater. The dark haired man stepped forward, “Mr. Sutcliffe, Brian Epstein. The director.”

John shook his hand with a well practiced smile. Epstein was a two time Tony Award winner for his work on The Phantom of the Opera and Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat. Clearly, a big fan of Webber. He’d come back to England and shined at the Olivier Awards, and now he’d taken his award winning productions and moved them to his hometown, Liverpool. 

Epstein kept going, “And you already know Sir Martin, our producer.”

John shook George’s hand a bit more warmly. He’d worked with Martin in Cinderella and Mary Poppins, both for which John had gotten nominations for the costumes in London. 

Brian held the door for him, “This way please, your assistant is already here.” and led him to the auditorium. It was smaller than most but no less beautiful, with red seats and carpets and a painted ceiling. Of course it was empty but for a few people near the front and some crew members who were talking on the stage.

Cynthia, his assistant, was sitting in the front row and held a case containing John’s supplies and previous ideas. She looked up from her phone as he sat down beside her. Someone had graciously provided a table next to his seat so that drawing would be easier. 

“Hey, boss.” Cyn said to him, eyeing him with narrowed eyes.

John took off his sunglasses and replaced them with his horned prescription ones. In his hurry and his misery, he’d forgotten to put on contacts. “Cyn.”

“How’s Stuart?” She asked with obviously faked disinterest.

He grinned at her, “Just fine. Excited for tomorrow.”

She nodded and hummed. 

John turned back to his sketchbook and got out his pencils. He didn’t need her skepticism, not today. 

Soon enough, rehearsals were starting. He saw the performance of Magical Mr. Mistoffeles, the magician being played by an incredibly skinny lad that looked not older than twenty. But damn he could dance. Still, no ideas came to John, no inspiration. Performances went and repeated and passed and John’s paper remained blank. 

It wasn;t until hours later, after Brian shouted an impatient “McCartney!” That John’s hand started to move. 

A tall young man dressed in sport leggings and a tank top came to center stage, ballet shoes on his feet. His eyes were big and his eyebrows arched, his lips were plump and pink, his chin soft...he was beautiful. But not delicate. No, his arms were muscled and his legs looked strong, yet somehow he managed to look small as was appropriate for the role. 

Brian called another man to stage and said, “We’re going over Victoria’s dance, and then Plato coming in. Places!” 

John looked around for the girl playing Victoria and it wasn’t until the stage darkened and a rather weak (They were still tinkering with the lightning) spotlight fell on the so called McCartney that John realized no girl would be coming at all. The recorded music (The orchestra was still in rehearsals) started and John watched in fascination as the boy lifted his right leg up behind him. 

It was a beautiful sight, seeing McCartney bring his leg up and straighten his body to make himself look taller. Then, with his leg an his ams in the air, the dance started to slowly spin. And with him, John’s hand moved. He watched as Victoria straightened his leg and then proceeded to bring it up straight against his side. The designer’s eyes were transfixed as the dancer went to his tiptoes on his one remaining leg and then gracefully fell into the stage on a split. 

John was reminded of the cats at the orphanage at the rather playful movements of Victoria on the floor and a smile broke out on his previously somber face. 

“Alright, next!” Epstein called out and broke the magic that was in the air. 

McCartney stood and brushed himself off as another strong looking, much taller man appeared next to him. Brian gave the word and the soft music started again. John watched with narrowed eyes as this new man, playing Plato, rubbed himself against Victoria. McCartney was acting bashful and innocent, jumping away from the caresses then hurrying back. 

And then, the main act. John audibly gasped as Plato picked Victoria up by the waist and, effortlessly, Mccartney went up and over his shoulder with his head ending up against Plato’s lower back and his legs split in the air. And then, gently, he came back down and his left leg quivered as the man playing Plato ran a hand down its length. 

Damn, this scene was rather sensual, wasn’t it? John felt hot just seeing it. But that might just be the fact that he hadn’t had sex in five months. Stuart had been on a work trip in Germany the day of John’s birthday and had no interest in any other day. John had become real familiar with the sex shop near his designer line’s store. 

Moving on, Plato was gliding Victoria down in his arms and he briefly swung him around then McCartney curled up in his arms (How strong was this man holy shi-) and Plato deposited him on top of another cast member. It was Skimbleshanks, damn. Looks like trains weren’t his only love. 

Brian yelled cut soon after and the dancers took a break. John couldn’t speak and crap, he hadn’t clapped. Then again, neither had anyone else. 

Cynthia spoke up, “That’s nice.” She sounded amused. 

John looked down and blushed. Of course she was amused. There was no costume on the paper, only the fine outline of a figure doing the splits on the floor, arms raised and eyes closed. It was this McCartney person, obviously. 

John had to talk to him, his heart wouldn’t stop beating wildly as it was right now until he did. 

* * *

He didn’t get a chance until after rehearsals and it was five o clock. He and Cynthia were packing up their stuff when he spotted McCartney’s dark haired figure slip away through a door to the side. John grabbed his bag and sunglasses and hurried after him.

He found the lad smoking a cheap cigarette with his bag on the dirty ground and his back against the graffiti filled alley wall.

John schooled his expression to look careless and he got out his own Treasurer cigarette, the most expensive cigarettes in the world. As he put it on his long silver cigarette holder, John spoke, “McCartney, right?”

The dancer jumped and nearly dropped his cigarette. He turned to John with a disgruntled expression. “Yeah?”

John took a drag, his crystal speckled nails tingling against the holder. “I’m John Sutcliffe.”

The man’s expression became nicer, “Oh, the designer. I liked your work in Cinderella.”

John felt flattered, “Oh.” He hadn’t been able to attend any of the ceremonies where he was being honoured or awarded or nominated for his Cinderella costumes, due to Stuart having gotten himself in a motorcycle accident and John having to take care of him. Stu’s assistant, a so called Astrid, had volunteered to stay with Stuart but John refused to allow it. “Thank you.” He continued.

McCartney took a drag and moved closer. “My name’s Paul.”

John shook the offered hand, rougher than his own. He frowned as he stared at the man’s face in more detail and noticed that, beneath nearly gone make up, was a bruise. “Are you alright there?”

Paul stepped backwards, “Yeah! Yeah, ha, I ran into a door.” He took a nervous drag of his cigarette and looked at John, “Are you coming to tomorrow? We’re doing Memory.”

John shrugged, “Doubt it.” He grinned, “It’s my anniversary.”

Paul didn’t celebrate anniversaries, since technically the day he and Pete had gotten together had been the day the older man had lost his wife and his kids. Stop, he smiled. “That’s nice, how long?”

John sighed, “Nine years.” About three of wedded bliss and six of fighting for Stuart’s love and affection. 

“Wow.” Paul said, but he knew he wasn’t that far off with Pete. 

John fakes a cheery smile, “Yes. I bought Stuart tickets to Paris. We want to visit soon.” If his husband left his gallery long enough.

What a nice feeling it must be to be able to go and have a romantic trip with the love of your life. Pete wasn’t very romantic. Sure, he knew how to get Paul hot but he wasn’t one for grand gestures. 

John had exhausted his cigarette. “Well, I got t’go.” He walked past Paul with a small smirk. “See you around,” He said, “Victoria.”

Paul chuckled and waved at him as John disappeared from the alleyway. What an interesting guy, with his silver cigarette holder and his crystal nails. 

Meanwhile, John was getting into his car, feeling better than hours ago. He adjusted his sunglasses and rubbed his arm. Maybe Stu would be free when he got home and they could have dinner together.

* * *

But when John crosses the door threshold into his home, he found Gretchen looking nervous waiting for him.

John slipped off his sunglasses, “Gretchen?”

His maid’s eyes were sad, “Mr. Sutcliffe is in the dining room.”

John did not notice her eyes and his heart filled with hope. He hurried in the direction of the dining room, not even bothering to take off his coat. But after he pushed open the door to the dining room, the designer froze.

As did the people inside. Their long dining table was filled with people, young lads dressed in leather and French hats. They were all staring at John in confusion with Stuart at the head of the table. John noticed that there were no free seats. 

John forced a smile in Stu’s direction. “Honey!” He exclaimed, “Who are your friends?”

For once, Stuart didn’t look annoyed when he talked to his husband. He raised his arms with a grin, “The future! Artists of our generation , the birth of a new era.”

They all looked like drop out drug addicts to John, but then again it wasn’t like he was some authority on goodness. “That’s nice.” He said and waited for Stuart to make space for a seat by his side.

But this did not happen, instead all the ‘artists’ started talking and eating amongst themselves. It wasn’t until a young man next to Stuart leaned in to whisper in his ear that his husband looked to his direction again. 

“Uh, John?” Stuart said.

John perked up, “Yeah?”

“Close the door behind you, would you?” 

The younger man felt like he’d been sucker punched in the gut. He stood still for a few moments and then bowed his head. “Ok.” Was his meek answer and he left the dining room, following his husband’s request and closing the door behind him.

Gretchen was waiting for him, a pitying look on her face. 

John avoided her gaze and cleared his throat. “I’ll have my dinner upstairs, Gretchen.” He whispered.

“Of course, sir. I’ll take up some chocolate cake as well.”

John gave a small thankful smile and walked away. He went up to his room,  _ their _ room, and into the bathroom. Roughly, he washed off his makeup and then undressed. Usually, he slept in the nude (to make it easier in case Stuart ever wanted to start something), but tonight he put on a pair of silk pajamas that were too big on him and so brought him the comfort that his husband’s arms failed to provide. 

He fell into the large bed and wished for a cat he could hold close, but he just had his pillows. Stuart hadn’t arrived by the time John finally fell asleep and the man was left with one thought:

Why couldn’t Stu come to bed just for one night?

* * *

It was dark by the time Paul got home. He called out his boyfriend’s name and got no response, and a search around the small flat showed that he wasn’t passed out anywhere. He was either out drinking or doing some job for a friend. 

Paul knew Pete would be hungry when he came home and that he was expected to make some dinner, but he was exhausted from all the dancing he’d done today. The couch looked so inviting for a short nap…

Decision made, Paul laid down on the sofa and pulled the dusty blanket on top of him. He was sure he’d wake up before Pete arri…

Paul gasped awake when something which smelled strongly like cheap beer hit him in the face. He opened his eyes to see Pete towering over him. 

“Wakey wakey, puppet.” Pete sneered.

Paul sat up abruptly, “Darling, you’re home!”

Pete chuckled, “Yeah, no shit. Where’s my dinner?”

Paul went cold. “I, eh, I thought we could order pizza?” He said, then whimpered as a harsh hand came down and backhanded him.

Pete took hold of his tank top and pulled him up. “You lazy bastard, I’m out there working like a dog so you can keep dancing like some whore”- he shook Paul -“And all I ask for is a plate of food at the end of the day, is that too much to ask?” 

Paul meekly shook his head.

Pete let go of his tank top and brought his hand to Paul’s neck instead, squeezing as he brought Paul close. “I said, is that too much to ask!?”

“No, Pete, it isn’t.” Paul choked out. His hand were over Pete’s wrists. It wasn’t the first time Pete held him like this and he tended to leave ugly bruises. 

The older man let him go and Paul fell against the couch. “Get out of my sight.” He hissed.

Paul sniffed and hurried away from the living room and into their small bathroom. He coughed a bit due to the ache in his neck and the smell of beer all over him. Stupid. He’d been stupid. Of course Pete would be hungry! Paul couldn’t afford to take naps. And now he’d missed both breakfast and dinner. 

His shower was quick and cold, but at least the smell of beer was gone. He brushed his teeth and applied some soothing cream to his neck and face. He stared at himself in the mirror. His body may be muscular, but his face was grey and hollow. 

Back in the bedroom, Paul put on a pair of old track pants and a large t- shirt of Pete’s, then went out to the balcony to light up a cigarette. Which reminded Paul of the glamorous man he met today. John Sutcliffe, a name well known in the theater circles. A rich and happily married man, nominated for so many awards...what a perfect life. With his cigarette holders and his sunglasses, dark lips and contoured cheekbones. He didn’t seem real, he was just too...perfect. John Sutcliffe was perfect. 

Sighing, he crushed his cigarette against the railing and went back into the bedroom. He got under the thin covers and waited. 

Sure enough, around half an hour later the door squeaked open and Pete walked in. He fell into the bed behind Paul and when the younger man turned he smelled pizza on his breath. No doubt he’d eaten the whole thing out of spite. The next thing he noticed was that Pete was naked.

Pete raised a hand and somewhat harshly patted Paul in the face. “Are you sorry, puppet?”

Paul wasn’t looking into his eyes but he nodded, “I’m sorry.”

Pete smiled, then gripped Paul’s shoulder and started to shove him down. Paul held back a groan but he moved submissively so that his face was level with Pete’s half-hard cock.

Paul pleasured him in automatic, not even thinking about it. He certainly didn’t enjoy it, he hardly even got hard. And when Pete spilled down his throat, he swallowed instinctively. So much for brushing his teeth.

Pete patted his head and Paul moved back up to lay his head on the pillow. Pete didn’t offer to get him off and Paul didn’t ask. But his boyfriend did put a heavy arm around his waist, pinching the skin in a way that was supposed to be playful but didn’t feel so. Still, Paul appreciated it. An attempt at an apology for his earlier actions. Tomorrow Paul would make him his favourite breakfast and Pete would twirl him around and everything would be okay again. Still, at the moment Paul couldn’t help but think:

Why couldn’t Pete stay away for just one night?


	2. When

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im baaaaaack
> 
> um, warnings? excused to justify physical and emotional abuse. 8C

John woke up hungry, having fallen asleep before dinner the night before. But he smiled when he remembered the date, it was his anniversary! 

He remembered when he and Stu got married, voice cracking and acne on their faces. John had shrugged on a white t-shirt with a mustard stain on the back, a borrowed pair of jeans without holes, and a leather jacket that had been a gift from Stu. Stu’s family had looked funnily at him but John had just been happy to be getting away from the orphanage and into a new life. 

And now here he was, nine years down the line...alone. The bed was empty. But no matter, John still shrugged on his dressing gown and ventured out of the room.

The house looked much the same, apart from Gretchen standing at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Good morning, Gretchen.” John said with a warm smile.

“Morning, Mr. Surcliffe.” She bit her lip, “Sir, your husband already left for the gallery.”

John faltered and forced his hands together to have something to squeeze, “Oh.” He murmured and looked down briefly before forcing a smile on his face, “We’re probably going out for dinner then.”

Gretchen offered a kind if not concerned smile, “I’m sure, sir.” She didn’t believe it for one second.

* * *

Hours passed without a sign of Stu, not even a phone call. Regardless, expecting a dinner date, John took his time dressing up and getting ready. He’d felt like wearing a dress today, a simple off the shoulder, white cocktail dress that Stuart had bought for him as an anniversary present three years ago (Two sizes too small for John but he’d fixed himself to make it fit). He spent over an hour on his make up, eager to hide every imperfection. Stuart liked it when his skin glistened and looked perfectly smooth, said it reminded him of a painting. 

He was sitting in the parlour, sipping a warm cup of tea while trying to work on the costumes, but he could only think of Victoria. Paul. He’d reminded John of the boys at the orphanage, jumpy and cautious. But he was also beautiful and mysterious. Why was he bruised? Why was he playing Victoria? Why did he smoke? So many questions that John would like to ask. Apart from Cynthia and Gretchen, he didn’t have many friends left because Stu kept falling out of love with them, and John would put his husband before anyone else. Maybe this Paul could be his friend.

* * *

Paul woke up hungry, having been deprived of dinner the night before. Seeing that Pete was still asleep, he hurried away from the bedroom and into the kitchen. He had to make Pete’s favourite, eggs with sausage. Paul had always wanted to be a vegetarian, but Pete would practically force him to eat meat. So Paul ate small portions and stayed away from meat when eating by himself at work.

After a few minutes of work, two arms wrapped themselves around him possessively. “Smells delicious, puppet.” Pete murmured tiredly.

Paul forced himself to lean back against his boyfriend’s chest. Was he happy or upset? He couldn’t really tell yet. “Your favourite.” He said.

Pete nipped at his neck, “ _ You’re _ my favourite.”

Paul couldn’t help but giggle. Pete was happy, good.

“I’ll set the table.” Pete told him and pressed a wet kiss against the back of his neck. But he didn’t move yet, instead he shifted his hands around Paul’s bruised neck. “Wish you didn’t make me do this, puppet. You see how good we are when you’re good?”

Paul’s smile disappeared but he nodded. He had to be better, try harder to make Pete happy. After all, Pete made  _ him _ happy.

Right?

  
  


Breakfast was going well with the two of them shooting smiles at each other, until Pete finally spoke.

“I talked with my brother last night before going to bed.” He reached out to take one of Paul’s hands.

“Oh?” Paul hadn’t seen his own brother in years. Five years to be exact.

Pete smirked, “I’m gonna be out a couple of weeks for a job.”

Oh thank god. For one, Paul would be able to breathe a little. Two, Pete would come back relaxed and cheerful and they would have fun together.

Pete kept going, “It’s a good one with nice pay.” He winked, “When I come back, I’m taking you to London to see a show in the West End, eh?”

Paul gasped and laughed incredulously, “Oh, darling!” What a perfect outing. “Thank you.”

Pete leaned down to press a kiss against Paul’s knuckles and they went back to eating, both filled with excitement and hope.

* * *

John had gotten bored at home and he was getting no ideas for the costumes, so he shrugged on a navy trench coat and went out. He had his driver drop him off near the docks and then waved him away, promising to call him when he wanted to go back home. 

It had been a long time since John had been to the docks; back then he’d worn torn jeans with leather jackets stolen off rubbish piles and now he was wearing a designer dress with a six thousand pound sterling ring on his hand. He’d been dirty and rude, spat at authority and got into fights...he was better now, he liked to think; he had a successful business and a (loving) husband, he dressed nicely and behaved respectively, his life was practically perfect in every way. His old self would probably hate him, but John hated him so...it worked out. 

John leaned against a dirty railing and breathed in the smell of the smoke and the sea. It was such a familiar smell that, despite its bad memories, it made him smile. 

He wondered if the coffee shop he used to frequent was still open…

* * *

Paul, with a soft scarf wrapped around his neck, was getting lunch for himself and a few other crew members at a coffee shop near the docks. It wasn’t the closest to the theater but he knew that they were good and cheap. The owner wasn’t the friendliest, though, and he made snide comments under his breath when he spotted two men walking by the shop holding hands. Whatever, Paul could live with that as long as he got his sandwiches.

As he waited, the door rang open and a woman- no, a man- walked in. It was Sutcliffe! The designer had his sunglasses on with his short curly hair framing his face, if Paul hadn’t known him, he would have mistaken him for a woman. A very,  _ very _ hot woman. As the owner of the shop seemed to be doing, eyeing his legs with lustful eyes.

But as soon as Sutcliffe walked up to the counter and took off his large sunglasses, the owner’s mood soured. 

“We don’t serve the likes of you here.” He sneered.

John sighed and waved his wallet around, “I just want a coffee.”

The owner made himself tall behind his counter and growled, “I said get out, you dirty  _ faggot _ .”

John’s face fell into a scowl and he was tempted to tear the man a new one, but Stuart would be displeased if John caused trouble. John used to be a troublemaker but Stu had driven it out of him. Instead, John put his wallet back in his coat and, before putting on his sunglasses, winked at the rude man then strutted off the property. Fine, he could probably find better coffee somewhere else. 

“Mr. Sutcliffe!” A familiar voice called out, “Wait a sec!”

John froze and turned around, his lips parting into a smile when he spotted the dancer. “McCartney, what a surprise.” 

Paul stopped before him, “Could say the same, what’s a posh lad like you walking around a place like this?” He grinned to take the edge off the question.

John chuckled and waved a hand, “This used to be my home back in the day.”

Paul raised his eyebrows, “Really?” 

John shrugged, “Yeah, you know Strawberry Field?”

“That Salvation Army place?” The other man said. They were standing right next to docks and the smell and smoke from the ships was heavy in the air.

John nodded and pointed at himself, “That was home.” 

Huh. Maybe John Sutcliffe hadn’t lived the perfect life Paul had imagined. Still, he’d made something of himself. Then the dancer remembered why he’d run out after him in the first place. He held up a coffee, “Still want that coffee?” He didn’t know why he was offering it, it just seemed right. It had nothing to do with the way the designer’s legs looked in that dress, not at all. 

John grinned at the unexpected gesture and walked closer, “Thank you, that’s kind of you.” He took the coffee. 

“I hope you like it sugary sweet.” Paul offered.

John nodded and took a sip. Perfect.

Paul looked down at his scratched watch and saw that he still had some time, Victoria wouldn’t be needed until much later and really, lunch could wait. He gestured at a bench that oversaw the water, “Wanna sit?”

John looked down at his diamond encrusted watch and thought for a moment. It was still early and therefore, it was very likely that Stuart was still at the gallery. Hopefully, his husband would leave it soon and they could celebrate their anniversary. But until then, John could spare some time to talk to someone. He nodded at the other lad, “Yeah, sure.”

They walked together and sat down, sipping from their coffee in silence. Paul then remembered their conversation from the day before. 

“How’s your anniversary going so far?” He asked. Paul was in a good mood that day, Pete’s cheer from the morning sticking to him. It was always a good day when Pete was happy. 

John sighed and looked out into the sea, shrugging his shoulders. “Well, I’m in a wet bench far from home talking to a man that is definitely not my husband, so…”

Paul looked down, “Right...sorry.” Stupid Paul, he should have known better than to ask about the man’s private affairs. 

Noticing the change in the other man’s attitude, John hurried to add, “It’s alright! I’m used to it.”

Paul hummed in return, still berating himself for intruding. 

John cleared his throat, “Are you from around here?”

Paul looked up at him, “Yeah, I grew up in Allerton.”

Not the nicest area, but not the worst either. John hummed, “Do you like football, then?”

Paul made a face and John laughed.

The dancer chuckled, “Me dad wanted me to play, imagine how he felt when I decided to start dancing instead.” 

“I’m sure he’s proud of you.” John murmured.

Maybe he would be if he had any idea where Paul was. The man shrugged, “I guess. I wouldn’t care either way, I love to dance.”

“You’re brilliant.” The words escaped John before he could stop them, but he didn’t take them back.

Paul looked back at him, “Really?” Technically, he knew he was brilliant but no one ever really said it. 

John nodded bravely, “You’ll make an amazing Victoria.”

“I’m sure your costumes will do half the work, at least.” Paul offered amusingly.

John snorted. “You flatter me.” He said, “Which is just as it should be.”

They laughed together. Was this what friendship felt like? What an old concept, yet so refreshing. 

Paul sneaked a glance at the designer as the man took a sip of his coffee. Yes, very refreshing.

* * *

John came home to an empty house apart from Gretchen, who waited near the door with a pitying expression. It was dark outside now, and it looked like Stuart was still gone.

John sighed and avoided his maid’s gaze, “He’s still out, then?” His tone was numb.

She nodded at the ground, “Yes, sir.”

John took a deep breath and gave a single nod. “I’ll take my dinner in my study, thank you.”

“Of course, sir.”

John walked past her and up the stairs, deciding to take a bath and put on his sleep clothes before he ate,  _ alone _ . Should he even be surprised? Last year Stuart had passed their anniversary in Austria with his crew from the gallery, and in Hong Kong the year before. But he was in town at the moment, and he still didn’t show up. He really must have either forgotten or just didn’t care.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have gone out. He ought to have waited for Stuart at home like a good husband. Maybe he’d come home to find John gone and he’d left. But had he stayed, he wouldn’t have seen Paul again. Yes, John wouldn’t have liked to have missed that. The other man was a mystery, but he was a nice person and funny. Not to mention beautiful. But that was not for John to notice.

He sighed as he finished wiping his makeup off and shrugged off the dress, stepping into the porcelain tub full of hot water. He let his eyes close and tried to ignore the ache in his heart. 

Stuart didn’t love him anymore, a fool could see it. John could certainly see it. But what could he do? A separation wouldn’t make much difference and he couldn’t bear thinking about divorce. No, he would just have to find a way to make Stu love him again. Should he lose weight? Change his makeup? His clothing? What would please his husband? Maybe he could learn to cook? No, that would be disastrous. Should he visit him at the gallery more often? No, Stuart hadn’t been pleased to see him there the last time. What was it that made him undesirable? 

It was with these dark thoughts that John readied himself for bed, deciding to simply shrug on a fluffy sleep robe over his naked body in desperate hope that Stuart would arrive later and ravish him senseless. 

He walked to his study with tired steps just a Gretchen was coming out. She was smiling at him, not pityingly for a change. 

“Did something happen?” He asked.

“Something arrived for you, Mr. Sutcliffe.” She told him and pointed to his desk. 

A large white box was waiting for him next to his dinner with a large red bow. Oh, could it be? He ran past his maid to his desk and tore the card off the box.

_ John, _

_ You didn’t think I’d forget, did you? _

_ I’m working on a very important exhibition at the moment, I’m sure you understand why I couldn’t be with you.  _

_ Your dear husband, _

_ Stuart Sutcliffe. _

And to think he’d dared to doubt Stu! Of course the man had important thing to do, but he  _ did _ remember. Now John felt guilty for his careless thoughts, how could he think so negatively of the man that had taken care of him for the past decade?

John looked at the box with anticipation and took off the lid, then gasped in joy.

There, curled up in a corner of the large box, was a fluffy white kitten.

“Oh, Stu…” He whispered, enchanted.

John picked up the kitten delicately and held it up to his face, noticing that she was a female. “Hello, sweetheart.”

The kitten meowed back at him softly.

“I’m gonna call you...Victoria.” There could be no other name for her. Why, John loved her already.

Stuart loved him, John was sure, and any thoughts of separation or divorce faded from his mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked  
please comment.

**Author's Note:**

> I eat comments for breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, luncheon, afternoon tea, dinner, and supper.  
Yum.


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